The Lair of the White Worm/Chapter 31
THERE SEEMED TO be a great and unusual excitement on the river and along both banks as the Manx Maid swept on her way. From the tops of the lighthouses and the pleasure towers; from the yards of every big ship going out or coming in, spy-glasses were projected and binoculars in use; there was rushing to and fro on all docks, and many shots were heard. Sir Nathaniel went about the deck trying to find the cause; at least a quarter-master told him that, so far as they could make out from semaphore signals, a great whale had come down the river and was heading out to sea. It had been first noticed at Runcorn, he said, going downstream; but where it had come from no one knew, for it had been unoticed before that time. For Sir Nathaniel and his friends this was quite sufficient. The danger was not over yet. Adam went straight to the captain and made a request that the search-light with which the ship was equipped should be kept on the alleged whale day and night, as long as it might be within sight. This was attended to at once, and so long as there was anything to be seen there were constant reports. Adam and his friends had many oppurtunities of seeing the monster, and more than once recognized the contours of its head and the green flash of its eyes. Just before midnight the report came that the whale had been seen to turn, and was now heading towards the Mersey. Then all was darkness, and reports ceased. The pursuit had been given over. Adam and Mimi and Sir Nathaniel slept sound that night. Refreshed with sleep, which had for many nights been a stranger to them all, the party rose with renewed courage and the brave intentions which come with it. When Queenstown was in sight, Adam, leaving his wife in their cabin, took Sir Nathaniel to the saloon, then empty, and astonished him by telling him that he was going off when the ship stopped, and was returning to the Brow at once. “But what about your wife?” the latter asked. “Does she go on alone?” “No, sir; she comes back with me,” was the startling reply. Sir Nathaniel walked back and forwards several times before he spoke: “I presume, my dear boy, that you have thought well over what you are about to do, and weighed up the possible consequences. I am not given to interfere with my neighbor’s affairs, and such a thing as this is a man’s own responsibility to be decided entirely by himself. Of course when he has a wife her wishes are paramount. What does she say?” “We are quite agreed, Sir Nathaniel. We both see it as a duty which we owe to other people to be on the spot and do what we can.” “But,” expostulated Sir Nathaniel, “with the terrible experiences you have had—the recollection of the terrible dangers which you have escaped—is it wise to place such an awful burden as a possible repetition, or even extension of these things, on the shoulders of a young girl just entering—and happily entering—life? Forgive my interference. I shall not press my views unduly on either of you; but to bring the view before your notice is also a duty, a very sacred duty which I must not forgo.” “I know that, sir, and with all our heart Mimi and I thank you for your kindness. But it is just because of that experience which is already had, and perhaps paid for, that our power to help others has grown—and our responsibility in equal proportion.” Sir Nathaniel said solemnly: “God forbid that I should come between any man—or woman—and a duty. Remember that I am with you, heart and soul. I shared the trouble and the risk with you at the beginning, and, please God, I shall do so to the end—whatever that may be!” Sir Nathaniel said no more, but he was helpful in all ways, loyally accepting the wishes of his friends and supporting them. Mimi thanked him in the warmth of her handclasp, for his sharing the risk, and for his devoted friendship. Then they three settled all matters so far as they could foresee. When the ship arrived in the roads at Queenstown they debarked in the tender and set out in the first train towards Liverpool. There, in obedience to instructions telegraphed to him by Davenport, they were met with the carriage with four horses and the postillions just as when they had left Diana’s Grove. The postillions, who were well-plucked men, had volunteered to come though they knew the terrible risk they ran. But the horses had been changed—wisely—for they could not easily get over the fright in the prolonged race against the monster. Mr. Salton had been advised that they were not returning to Lesser Hill, so did not expect to see them. All was prepared at Doom with locks and bolts and curtains as when they left. It would be foolish to say that neither Adam nor Mimi had no fears in returning. On the contrary, the road from Liverpool and Congleton was a via dolorosa. Of course Mimi felt it more keenly than her husband, whose nerves were harder, and who was more inured to danger. Still she bore up bravely, and as usual the effort was helpful to her. When once she was in the study in the top of the turret, she almost forgot the terrors which lay outside in the dark. She did not attempt even a peep out of the window; but Adam did—and saw nothing. The full moonlight showed all the surrounding country, but nowhere was to be observed that tremulous line of green light or the thin white tower rising up beyond the woods. The peaceful night had good effect on them all; danger, being unseen, seemed far off. At times it was hard to realise that it had ever been. With courage quite restored, Adam rose early and walked all along the Brow, seeing no change in the signs of life in Castra Regis. What he did see, to his wonder and concern, on his returning homeward, was Lady Arabella in her tight-fitting white dress and ermine collar, but without her emeralds, emerging from the gate of Diana’s Grove and walking towards the Castle. Pondering on this and trying to find some meaning in it, occupied his thoughts till he joined Mimi and Sir Nathaniel at breakfast. They were all silent during the meal, simply because none of them had anything to say. What had been had been, and was known to them all. Moreover, it was not a pleasant topic. One experience they had—at least Adam and Mimi had, for Sir Nathaniel had long ago learned all that it could teach—that is, that memory of even the most stirring or exciting or mournful time, soon passes; the humdrum of life is beyond all episodes, and swamps them. A fillip was given to the conversation when Adam told of his seeing Lady Arabella, and her being on her way to Castra Regis. They each had something to say of her, and of what her wishes or intentions were towards Edgar Caswall. Mimi spoke bitterly of her in every aspect. She had not forgotten—and never would—never could—the occasion when to harm Lilla she consorted even with Oolanga. As a social matter, she was disgusted with her over following up of the rich landowner—“throwing herself at his head so shamelessly,” was how she expressed it. She was interested to know that the great kite still flew from Caswall’s tower. But beyond such matters she did not try to go. Indeed, for such shehad no data. She was really surprised—in a quiet way—to hear how fully the old order of things had been already restored. The only comments she made in this connection were of strongly expressed surprise at her ladyship’s “cheek” in ignoring her own criminal acts, and her impudence in taking it for granted that others had overlooked them also. Adam had tried unsuccessfully to find any report of the alleged whale in the Mercy, so he remained silent on that subject. Perhaps he had a vague hope that the monster had been unable to sustain her maritime adventures, and had perished. He was well content that this should be so, though he had already made up his mind that he would spare neither time nor effort, or indeed life itself, to root out Diana’s Grove and all it contained. He had already expressed his intention to Sir Nathaniel and to Mimi. The former thoroughly approved his intention and pledged himself to support him in his efforts. Mimi agreed with him, but woman-like advised caution.